As he slept, Alexander Vilos had the same dream over and over again. In the dream, he was standing in front of a large crowd about to engage in a battle. Someone was standing beside him. Together they were giving a speech. It was a sea of young faces, all looking up to him. Then it would begin happening; the cheering would start and reach a deafening level. Slowly, he turned to see who was standing beside him, but the person turned his head away. Alexander looked back at the crowd. He loved them cheering; acknowledging his power to lead them.
Suddenly Alexander Vilos awoke with a startled look on his face�not quite sure where he was. He looked at the alarm clock. Ten minutes till nine. He had hoped to be up by eight o�clock. After all, this was the last day of a millennium. December 31, 1999. The world was supposed to change tonight. He wanted to be a witness to it, be part of it.
As he sat on the edge of his bed, Alexander Vilos went through his plans for this day. He knew his mother would want to have breakfast with him. After all, they weren�t spending this New Year�s Eve together. Alexander had wanted to be with his friends and she had a new boyfriend; this one looked like he might last. His mother and her new boyfriend were driving south to Atlantic City. Her boyfriend, a successful contractor, had spent $1,000 each for the kind of pre-packaged partying that much of the world seemed intent on doing this night.
Alexander had come back home after finishing his classes the previous week. He was a student at Columbia University, majoring in Ancient History and Business. But now he was not thinking of history; he was thinking out the next 15 hours. He was driving to New York City and meeting his 3 friends at the apartment he shared with one of them on the Upper West Side. They were lifelong buddies. But like all 19-year-olds, they were starting to drift apart. They had been planning this night for years. Together they would go to Times Square, and with the whole world watching, welcome in the New Century�their century. But Alexander Vilos had some important items on his agenda for this day; these were things he had to do before he could look to the future.
After a longer than usual shower, Alexander Vilos selected his clothes, or his �costume of the day� as Joey O�Donnell used to say. At the thought of Joey, he felt his stomach tighten. But Alexander reached for his carefully selected Versace outfit. He always cut the labels out of his clothing; he didn�t want his mother to become suspicious as to why he could afford such expensive clothes. She would wonder how he could afford such expensive clothing on his salary as a part-time clerk at a Wall Street brokerage firm. But she was proud of him, as always. She had raised him after his father left them when Alexander was only a year old. She worked hard and with the help of his grandfather, George, they had managed to survive. His grandfather had been the most important figure in his life, until he died just one week after Joey O�Donnell had been killed. For the second time that day, his stomach knotted. But he slipped into his leather jacket and his blue-mirrored sunglasses were ready to keep out the world, at least for a few more hours. Breakfast was perfunctory. A feta cheese omelet that he picked at so his mother would be satisfied. She reminded him six times during breakfast that he was welcomed to join them; she was sure her new boyfriend could get a room. Alexander smiled, told her he appreciated it, but he knew where he was going to be�he had a date with destiny.
He gave his mother a longer than usual hug, looked her in the eyes and thanked her for everything she had ever done for him. He wished her a happy new year and then went outside and removed the dust of snow from his five-year old forest green GEO. He waited as the car warmed.
In his rearview mirror, Alexander saw John O�Donnell come out of the house across the street. Like Alexander�s grandfather, the O�Donnell�s had owned that home since his first day of memory. Mr. O�Donnell had aged a lot in the last four years. He walked slower, slightly stooped as though every step took effort. Until that day in 1995 when Joey died, Mr. O�Donnell had been the picture of health. He waited until Mr. O�Donnell got into his car. He didn�t want to speak to him � not today.
He backed the GEO from the house, started the Nine Inch Nails CD and drove down the street. His hometown, Gillette, New Jersey was less than 25 minutes from New York City, it looked especially depressing today. Gray sky and the perpetual industrial haze. He hoped the sun was shining by the time he got to New York.
As he made the turn off Elm Street, he slowed down as he drove by the old Lance residence. That�s where Michael and his father and mother and brothers had lived until they moved to California two years ago. Michael had been his best friend. Now, all that was different; somehow, today, he wished it wasn�t. He accelerated again and suddenly was out in the country. He drove the last mile; finally he turned left onto a dirt lane. The mailbox at the beginning of that lane read �Dimitri Skorus�. He drove down the lane and stopped in front of the nondescript house. It was like a thousand other country houses in New Jersey, built some 80 years before. A fresh coat of paint�that Alexander had paid for the previous summer still looked great. What was out of place was an immaculate and impressive 2-door garage behind it. He parked his car to the left of the garage and walked to the house, knocking loudly on the front door. Dimitri Skorus was hard of hearing.
The moment Dimitri Skorus opened the door, a big bright smile flashed across his face.
�Alexander,� he said. �Come in, come in. I am so happy to see you.� Alexander returned the greeting and looked around the room. The furnishings belied the exterior. It was well furnished. Alexander had seen to that. After all, Mr. Skorus had been the best friend his grandfather had ever had. Both had lost their wives in mid-life and their companionship was a bright spot in each of their lives.
�You can stay for lunch?� he asked.
�No Mr. Skorus, I�m going into the city to meet my friends�, said Alexander. He wished he could stay; he liked talking with Mr. Skorus. Mr. Skorus had been the high school janitor for years and when the usual craziness of being a teenage overcame Alex, he had found a retreat in Mr. Skorus� office next to the boiler room. There, he would share some of the Greek delicacies that Mr. Skorus bought in the city and brought to school. Without talking about any problems, a conversation with Mr. Skorus was as close as he could come with the ones he�d had with his grandfather before he died. Mr. Skorus was the only older male he had trusted.
�I can�t stay, Mr. Skorus, but I just wanted to give you a little present for the New Year.� Alexander reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. Inside were five crisp $100 bills. �I just wanted to be sure you had a good weekend,� he said.
�Alexander, you shouldn�t do this,� said Mr. Skorus. But this was the arrangement that Alexander and he had, since he was 17. Mr. Skorus allowed Alexander to have all of his brokerage accounts sent to this address, and that had been key to what he had accomplished in the stock market once he and Michael Lance had drifted apart. After the end of their friendship, Michael had refused to share the stock market reports that his father, a Wall Street broker, had brought home. When that happened, Mr. Skorus had allowed him to use his address to have Alexander�s account information and statements sent to him.
He hugged Mr. Skorus, just as tight as he had hugged his mother. This man was special and on this day, he wanted him to know it. He knew what Mr. Skorus would be doing this night. He would drive the 18 miles to Fairfield, New Jersey where the only Greek Orthodox Church in the area was located. He would hear the midnight service and then drive home. Then he would drink himself to sleep with the Ouzo that he loved so much.
Alexander made for the door. As he walked by the front of the house, he saw Mr. Skorus peering out the window at him. The friendship he had for Alexander�s grandfather had been extended to Alexander at the moment of his grandfather�s death. No questions asked. He was just glad that he could help.
Alexander went back towards the garage and he pressed the garage opener as he approached. Inside, was a fire engine red 1998 McLaren. To Alexander it was the most beautiful automobile in the world, and last year he had plunked down over $800,000 to get it. He had every possible window tinted to the legal limit so that everyone who looked at the car, and believe me, everybody looked at the car, would not know it was Alexander Vilos driving the car. That was important, that was part of the conspiracy.
Slowly, carefully, he began to back the car from the garage. He pulled back far enough and let the car warm as he got in and drove the Dodge GEO �- his cover car as he called it � into the garage. He closed the door as he had done hundreds of times since buying the automobile and jumped inside. As always, his heart beat faster as he turned the car around and headed down the lane at high speed. It was the one place he could open up the car. After that, every cop in New Jersey would be looking for him. Blink 182 was on the CD player. The past was behind him, at least for today; only the future was ahead.
Two minutes later Alexander Vilos was headed to New York City. He opened the glove compartment and took out the Rolex. He slipped it around his wrist and glanced at it. It was 11:45. Whether by design or accident, he was early.
Within a few minutes he was on the freeway, headed into The City.
As he cruised down the road, he was conscious that everyone was looking at this car, which was precisely the reason he had bought it. He loved people looking at him. Always had, and, he suspected, he always would.
Now, on the freeway he remembered a line from the movie he had seen a few days before. It was from Magnolia and it crept back into his mind as the open road swept by, with everyone staring at him and his car. The line said: We may be done with the past, but the past isn�t done with us.
Suddenly, the past was not done with him. With the awareness of what he had learned in the past 24 hours, Alexander Vilos relived that fateful Friday, March 17, 1995. There were 6 in the car that day and Johnny Scarpelli was driving. Johnny was older, 18, but for some reason hung out with the other five, all of whom were 15. They tolerated it because Johnny Scarpelli had two things they didn't have. He had a driver's license and a car. They were headed into the city to watch the St. Patrick�s Day Parade and to party. Johnny had borrowed his family�s �88 Toyota 4-Runner. Joey O�Donnell was riding shotgun. Alexander, Michael Lance, and Brandon Hunter were in the back seat. Scrunched in the back of the 4-Runner was Josh Hix � the quiet one. They were listening to R.E.M. and they were feeling free. Today was the first time the 15-year-olds had been to New York City without a parent accompanying them. Now the city � that evil city � lay in front of them. They were ready to party.
And party they did. Johnny had a contact who had gotten them beer and Peppermint Schnapps. They had sat in the 4-Runner in a garage near 3rd Street and 82nd Avenue. This was near where the parade ended and where the party gets really intense. They drank enough to catch a big buzz and then headed into the crowd.
Michael Lance, as usual, was trying to lead the way. Michael, who had tried to dominate the group once he was accepted into it, was the ultimate competitor of Alexander�s. He was the only natural jock amongst them, but his sport of choice was lacrosse. That meant he didn�t hang out with the football or basketball players, but then again he wouldn�t have been able to dominate them, so he chose this group. As usual, Michael Lance was being hypercritical. Which way to turn at a corner became a topic of major debate. He either got his way or he bitched about it. That�s the way Michael was. You either accepted him or rejected him. Most people rejected him; this group accepted him.
But on that March St. Patrick�s Day, Alexander was in such a good mood, feeling oh so free, that he forgave Michael. He always wondered why they had become such fast friends. Part of it was that Alexander was a natural leader; Michael seemed to have to force it. Another part of it was that Joey O�Donnell liked both Alexander and Michael. He was what held the group together.
Joseph Sean O�Donnell, III, was the All-Irish-American kid. He was redheaded, freckled and green eyed. To make matters more intense, he was a short Irishman. He saw the world the way no one else saw it. Joey loved it. He was immersed in it. He wanted something going on every hour of every day. Later, Michael would wonder if he had a premonition of what was going to happen and wanted to jam every hour of life into his sixteen years.
The sun was down quickly, and without I.D.s they had to stay out of the bars. They were walking past a crowd of people on 3rd Avenue near 79th Street when they spotted one of the parade bands playing loud Irish music. Most of the band members were drunk.
They stopped to listen and a few of them were intoxicated enough to try and sing some of the Irish ballads that were being played.
It was then that Alexander caught the group of skinheads out of the corner of his eye. They were obviously not New York City types. Probably up from Central New Jersey. He had seen their type in school and he didn�t like them, nor did anyone else in his group. Suddenly he realized they were trying to interact with the group, nodding their heads as though they had something in common. There were seven of them and they walked over. They were all dressed in black. Alexander instantly had an intense sense of foreboding. He didn�t like what was happening.
One of them reached inside his sweatshirt and brought out some sheets of paper. It was obvious from the headline that they were Nazi propaganda sheets. This was not going to be fun.
Alexander and his friends tried to ignore them for while, but it was obvious that it wasn�t going to work. Michael Lance was the one closest to them and that concerned Alexander. Michael Lance had a big mouth and had been responsible for getting them into a lot of fights.
Michael took the leaflet, read it and then looked at them. Michael was wearing his look of supreme contempt, although the skinheads had not yet correctly interpreted it. Alexander leaned over and said, �Michael, don�t cause any trouble.� He was never sure if Michael ever heard him or just chose to ignore him.
�Are you guys friggin� idiots?� shouted Michael Lance. It instantly infuriated the skinheads. He shouted it so loud that the band stopped playing. Everyone turned.
Joey O�Donnell, as he always did, sought to restrain Michael. He moved quickly to put himself between the gang of skinheads and Michael. He was facing Michael saying, �Cool it, Dude! Let�s just get out of here.�
Michael, as usual, wasn�t listening. Michael never listened. Joey was facing Michael, but it was as though Michael didn�t see him. �You racist bastards, why don�t you get the hell back to your pig farm!� he shouted. �Besides you need to protect your trailer house before it burns down, you lowlife.�
Suddenly the scene, as it always did when he thought about it, went into slow motion. Alexander had been looking at the skinhead who had first offered the leaflet. Behind him was a fat looking guy, who looked older than the rest of them. He had dark short hair, a mustache, and a round fat face. Like the others he was wearing a black jacket, his had the pocket in front. Suddenly, a gun appeared out of his sweatshirt and he was aiming at Michael, another skinhead standing next to the fat guy, pushed his arm down, and at that moment, three loud bursts and flashes came from the gun.
Alexander looked at Michael, who seemed dazed, but could see nothing in the way of a wound on him. And then he saw Joey, a dazed look on his face and blood pouring from his back as he fell forward and twisted so that he ended up on his back on the pavement.
Suddenly there was total pandemonium. People were screaming and scattered. Even the band dropped their instruments on the ground and ran for cover. The fat skinhead kept shooting until his gun was empty, although he hit no one else. Then they took off running, faster than anyone could imagine humans could run.
Alexander dropped to his knees. There was a gurgling sound coming from Joey. It was obvious that he had been badly wounded. Suddenly, Joey looked at him, and with every ounce of strength he processed he had pulled him close. He only wanted Alexander to hear this, although several of their group, including Michael Lance, had already dropped to their knees. Brandon and Josh had run for a pay phone to call 911. Already sirens could be heard coming towards them.
�Man, I�m not going to make it,� he whispered. �Alexander, you have to finish our thing. Michael and you have to do it for me, please? You can do it.� Then the grasp loosened and Joey�s eyes flew wide open. It was obvious, even to Alexander, that he had died. The ambulance arrived about 60 seconds later and they tried to revive Joey. They never did. The cops came, but the skinheads had disappeared.
They had taken Alexander and the guys down to the police headquarters and questioned them for hours. But even now, Alexander could not remember any of the questions asked of them, or the answers they gave. He had vomited twice during the questioning. And then everything seemed to go numb.
They never found the person who had killed Joey O�Donnell. Just another random, senseless act of violence.
Their parents had come to pick them up, not trusting Johnny Scarpelli to drive them home.
The following Tuesday, on a cold, windy day, Joey O�Donnell went into the ground. Alexander had remained numb. Michael Lance had stopped by on Monday afternoon, but Alexander refused to see him. In Alexander�s mind, Michael Lance had killed Joey with his big mouth. As surely as the skinhead who pulled the trigger, Michael Lance was responsible for what happened.
He had left the funeral with his mother and drove home. To complicate matters, Alexander�s grandfather had been diagnosed with liver cancer six months before and was in his final days of life. Once they returned home, Alexander relieved the nurse who had been staying with his grandfather while he and his mother attended the funeral. But now he was glad to be in the room with his grandfather. His grandfather was coming in and out of consciousness, but it was pleasing to Alexander to be with someone he loved, but who could not speak to him at that moment. Suddenly, his grandfather opened his eyes.
�Alexander,� he weakly said. He smiled, something Alexander had not seen him do for weeks. The pain was intense, but his grandfather had started taking Morphine. The doctor had told them it was only a matter of a short time and his grandfather would die. But now, seeing the sight of his grandson, his grandfather had suddenly seemed much better.
�Alexander, go over to the chest of drawers and open the top shelf,� his grandfather said hoarsely. �Bring me the box in the top drawer.�
Alexander walked over to the bureau and opened the top drawer. There, next to his grandfather�s socks was a large, old, old cigar box. Without opening it, Alexander lifted it from the drawer and brought it to his grandfather. �I don�t have much time left, Alexander,� his grandfather said slowly. �Don�t tell your mother about this. I want you to go to college. You must promise me that you will and that you will find out what the document inside this box is. My grandfather gave it to me and it is supposed to have some connection to prove that we came from royal blood. The other things in the box are for your college. Promise me you will go and find out what this document is about.�
Having said this, his grandfather looked weak again, Alexander slowly opened the box. What he saw inside made him gasp. There were bundles of $20 and $50 filling the box. They were rubber banded and some looked very old.
�But, Grandpa, this is your money,� he protested. �You�re going to get better and you�re going to need this money.�
�No, Alexander, I�m not going to get better,� he said. �We both know that. The money is for your college and the document is for your future. For some reason, the day you were born I looked at this document and knew, from the look in your eyes that you would be the one who would come to understand it. You must promise me that you�ll do what I ask. Your mother will have the house, which is fully paid off and my bank accounts. There is plenty there. But you, you can use this money as the payment on a college education, and go to a good school.�
With that said, his grandfather shut the box and told him, �take it to your room and don�t say anything to your mother.�
Then his grandfather closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep. A day later, he lapsed into a coma and on Friday, March 24, 1995, his grandfather died. It seemed impossible to him that the two most important people in his world, besides his mother had disappeared from the face of the earth within a week of each other.
Such, however, is the stuff of life. One must �soldier on�. Later, Alexander would count the money and find there was over $25,000 in the box.
Alexander took the money and hid it for about a week. At the same time he studied the parchment paper that his grandfather had given him. It was very old and had a lot of letters that looked like Greek to him and a lot of lines and dates. To him it was meaningless, but there would be time to keep that promise about translating the document later.
For now, he had promises to keep to Joey O�Donnell.
As he lay dying on that sidewalk, Joey had clearly communicated what he expected of Alexander Vilos and Michael Lance. In his typical wiry Irish way, Joey O�Donnell wanted to take on the world, not fight it, and just be one with it. To have the best possible time you could ever have. He wanted CDs. He spent days and weeks looking at automobiles that he would drive. His favorite automobile was the McLaren, an $800,000 automobile that he swore Michael, Alex and he would each own some day. When they were 12 and 13, it was all talk except Joey believed the talk.
One warm July night, in 1994, they had been in Joey�s backyard, stretched out on the green grass, looking at the sky and talking about the world. Joey was going on about how he had just seen a McLaren on a television talk show. It was the most expensive automobile in the world and he was sure they would own three some day. Michael had put down the idea, saying it was only a pipe dream. Talk and no action.
For once, Alexander became angry at Michael�s attitude. �And just what would you do if you wanted to be really rich?� asked Alexander.
�I�d do what my dad does, I�d work on Wall Street�. At least part of it was true. Michael�s dad did work at a major Wall Street brokerage company where he managed institutional accounts. �Why hell,� he said, �I�ll bet even we could make money on the stock market � even as kids.�
�Yeah, right!� said Joey. �All we can ever do is play video games on our computers, Michael.� That part was true. They all loved computers. Joey and Michael already had them. Alexander�s mother was going to buy him one for his birthday in the next few days.
Suddenly Michael Lance�s face lit up. �You know,� he said. �My dad brings home briefcases of computer print outs and reports that are supposed to be confidential. He�s always bugging me to learn about the stock market and even offered to explain it to me. I wonder if we might open an account and maybe use some of his secret confidential information to parlay some real money?�
It was this night that the conspiracy was born. They pooled their birthday money and lawn mowing money for the summer. They came up with a little over $1,000 between the three of them. Joey had found an on-line brokerage company and was able to open an account. Quickly, Michael and Alexander followed suit. For the next six months, they poured over the Wall Street Journal and every stock market report around. At the end of each month they took a tally. On February 28, 1995, the report showed that they had turned that $1,000 into almost $7,000. Acting on impulse they had formed a company named, THE COMPANY.
Based on their success, they took out $1500 and spend it on some paintball equipment. Now, their two biggest passions met. Making money and playing paintball.
When he was 12, Joey�s older brother had once taken him to play paintball�or THE GAME as they called it�and Joey could talk about nothing else since his first game. He quickly turned Alexander and Michael on to THE GAME, as they called it. It quickly replaced video games as their favorite pass time. They had built a range about a mile from Joey�s house. It was an old plant, and they used it once or twice a week, after school. They had borrowed his brother�s 3 markers and goggles. So, for the past two years they had made money and played paintball�telling no one about either.
But they wanted more. They wanted to play in a Big Game or a Scenario Game, just like the ones they read about in 2-Xtremes Magazine.
To get ready, they took their money and bought 3 paintball markers from Internet. They tried them out on their course at the old plant along the river. It said something about toxic waste on the fence that they had to crawl over to get to it, but they were young and paid no heed. They spent the first two Saturdays in March playing THE GAME with their new equipment�a boom box blasting music from the sidelines. After school, they spent a lot of time on their computers, buying, selling, and trading stocks based on the reports that Michael was pilfering from his father�s briefcase. They were excited about the prospect of the summer when they could work on their trading full-time and play paintball both days of the weekend. Life was good.
The only negative that had entered Alexander�s life during that period was the news that his grandfather had liver cancer. He had managed to squeeze out some time to spend with him. Occasionally, he went fishing with his grandfather and Mr. Skorus. They couldn�t eat anything they caught, but they had a lot of fun catching them and throwing them back.
And then that horrible week in March 1995 occurred. As they were driving back from New York City after Joey�s death, they drove by the place where they had played paintball. Alexander remembered the last day they had played THE GAME� the previous Saturday. They had played longer than usual, and had traded off on a game of fox and hounds. One would be the fox and be chased by the other two. Joey, particularly, liked being the guy that was hunted.
Suddenly, they realized the sun was setting and they were all due back home. They had put their markers in their backpacks and together they walked down the muddy lane between the land they played on and their houses. Joey was in the middle. Suddenly, on impulse he had put his arms around both Michael and Alexander, they were both taller but for this moment, it didn�t seem to make any difference. They walked that way for almost a half mile, silent, basking in their friendship.
As they split for their homes, Joey said that he would come over after dinner and it was another Joey rant. THE COMPANY was going to be the next Microsoft. Joey was ranting on about how the Internet was going to take over the world and how even young kids could make millions of dollars. And we were on the cutting edge. THE COMPANY would be unstoppable.
Very suddenly, the brake lights in front of him jolted Alexander out of his dream. Traffic was heavy going into the tunnel. As he pulled through the end of the tunnel, he realized that he was 2 hours early. Traffic was heavy, but he could easily make it to the Empire State Building. All day he was remembering everything about those final weeks, except that last trip to the Empire State Building. Joey loved the Empire State Building. He claimed that his great-grandfather had helped build it, having walked on the steel girders thousands of feet above the earth. So every time Joey came to New York, he visited the top of the Empire State Building. That Friday, March 17, 1995 was no exception.
As Johnny, Josh and Brandon looked down the other side, occasionally attempting to spit on the pedestrians below, Joey, Michael and Alexander stood on the other. As they looked north on the corporate towers of business, Joey said, �We�re going to be the biggest of them all�. He paused for a moment and then continued.
�We�re going to own the whole world � some day it will be ours. And we�ll have matching McLaren�s and the best looking women in the world.�
That�s what Joey had begged Michael and Alexander to do as he lay dying on the sidewalk.
After Joey�s death, Alexander had tried to be friends with the others, but he couldn�t. First, they had split up the money in their joint account between he and Michael. That combined with the $25,000 his grandfather had given him, gave Alexander the capital to start doing some serious trading. The Internet was now alive with information on stocks. Alexander occasionally went to school, hung out with his friends, even some times Michael Lance, but what he lived for was to go home and trade stocks.
And suddenly the money had increased many fold. Joey had discovered the dot.com stocks before he died. You see this was the era of the rapidly rising stock market and Joey, Michael and Alexander understood how to play the game.
Michael�s father had suddenly taken interest in his interest in Michael�s playing the stock market and was helping him to accelerate his money just as rapidly. The difference was that Michael Lance constantly talked about it on those occasions when they were together and Alexander kept his success to himself. Alexander still blamed Michael for the death of Joey. His loud mouth had gotten them into the situation. He didn�t think he could ever forgive him.
So he stopped hanging out with Michael, except for paintball�or THE GAME as they all called it. One of the things that Alexander loved about paintball was that one was part of a team, but they were also totally alone. The other thing that he liked was the ability of THE GAME to be so intense. One moment you could just be walking along and a few seconds later the world exploded in colored paintballs, usually seen only after they had impacted and eliminated you. But that didn�t make any difference.
THE GAME was the one time he could be with Michael and totally ignore his competitiveness. Everywhere else, the competition accelerated. If Alexander dated one of the women from school, Michael had to ask her out the next week. If Alexander bought a certain style shirt, Michael would buy a slightly different color, usually at a more expensive place. And so it went until they saw less and less of each other.
Now, on his ride to the top of the Empire State Building, Alexander remembered the last meeting he had with Michael, almost a year ago. Michael�s family was moving to California, where his father had taken a job as a President of a new brokerage firm. Michael was already driving a Lamborghini Diablo; Alexander had a GEO. Eighteen years old and Michael had a Diablo? Well there were some advantages to not having to hide the fact that you were trading stock and this was one of them.
They had said their good-byes and promised to stay in touch, but the relationship was more strained then ever. In the last few moments before they said goodbye, Michael had asked how he was doing in the stock market.
At that time Alexander held over $900 million in stocks. Michael only slightly less. Now, on the eve of the new millennium, Alexander�s worth had grown to $1.5 billion. As he stepped off the elevators and moved to the observation deck of the Empire State Building, Michael let the emotion wash over him. The memory of the last time he had been there, just a few hours before Joey O�Donnell had been killed, swept over him. But he also remembered that Joey and his grandfather had made him promise, and he knew he wanted to keep those promises.
As he stood looking northward, he could see the outlines of Columbia University. He had been enrolled there for the last year and a half, having finished high school a year early. He and Brandon Hunter had taken a luxury apartment on the Upper West Side. Alexander paid for most of it. While Brandon also traded stock, he was only worth a couple of thousand dollars, which meant that Alexander simply paid most of the rent.
He also took a job at Weller, Weeks and Harris, an e-trade stock company. He used the job in the research department to spot even more winners. In the morning he would execute trade after trade�specializing in Tech stocks.
It was while attending Columbia that he had met Dr. David Wister, a specialist in Greek and Macedonian history.
Alexander was taking Greek in the hopes of translating the parchment that his grandfather had given him. But the studies were going slowly. On a whim, Alexander had shown the parchment document to Dr. Wister. He had watched as Dr. Wister had looked at the document, and saw a look of amazement across the good doctor�s face.
This is a genealogy of the descendents of Alexander the Great, who was actually Alexander the III of Macedonia. After conquering most of the known world, Alexander had died of a fever at the age of 32. His son, Alexander the IV, who had been unborn at the time of his death, eventually succeeded him on the throne. Alexander the IV died when he was 13, but these documents clearly indicated that prior to his death, the 13 year-old had sired a child with a palace concubine. When the names were translated, his great-grandfather�s name appeared as the last entry. Dr. Wister looked at him and said dramatically, �If this document were true, you could be a direct descendent of Alexander the Great, through his son.�
Dr. Wister and he studied related documents for months. Finally, Dr. Wister was able to make contact with a Professor of Greek History at a university in Athens, Greece. Since Dr. Wister was going on sabbatical, he had given Alexander�s e-mail address to the Greek History Professor. Last night, Alexander had received an e-mail from the Professor, it said:
We have aged the document you sent to us and it appears to be authentic. My colleagues are divided on whether or not the original assumption that Alexander The IV�s having fathered a child at the age of 13, is true. If it is true, then indeed, you are a direct descendent of Alexander the Great.
Now, as he stood atop the Empire State Building, Alexander began to understand why he felt driven to make money. Alexander the Great, whose blood ran through his veins, had conquered the world by savagery; Alexander Vilos intended to be able to buy it. But he remembered also at that moment, that one of the secrets of Alexander The Great was his ability to integrate foreign people into his army and culture. It was what distinguished him.
Yesterday, when he was reading a book, an author wrote that Alexander conquered the world and probably lost less than 1,000 soldiers in all his battles. Sometimes they simply were so strong and motivated that they stood their ground, the opposing army ran and they slaughtered them. More often towns in their path simply surrendered out of sheer terror. That idea of co-opting the enemy suddenly inspired Alexander.
In a flash, he remembered the last thing that Michael Lance had said to him before he left. Michael was walking away, and then turned and for once, not in a joking manner said: �One of these days we ought to find out who really is the best one of us.�
Now, at this special moment, Alexander agreed with him. Instantly, he had an outrageous idea. He reached for his cell phone and called information in Newport Beach, California. That�s where Michael Lance and his family had moved. It was 3 hours earlier there. Indeed they had a listing for a Lance in Newport Beach.
Alexander pushed the button that let the call be dialed automatically. Under his breath he hoped there would be no answering machine. There wasn�t. Suddenly the familiar voice of Mrs. Lance was on the phone.
�Mrs. Lance, this is Alexander Vilos, is Michael there?�
He could hear the surprise in her voice, but Yuppie that she was, she recovered quickly. �Alexander, how are you? You should come to California and see us!� she said ingenuously.
�I might just do that, Mrs. Lance,� said Alexander. �Is Michael there?�
�He�s driving up to Irvine to meet some friends, then they�re off to some party,� she said.
�Does he have a cell phone?� asked Alexander.
�You kids are incredible. Why didn�t I think about that? Of course, he does, here�s the number,� she said.
He dialed it. On the third ring the familiar voice of Michael Lance answered.
�This is Michael,� said the familiar voice. A Blink 182 album was pumping in the background. There was obviously a super sound system in his car.
�Michael, this is Alexander Vilos,� he said. Alexander almost sensed in Michael�s reply that he really was glad to hear from him.
�Happy New Year!� said Michael.
�Same to you, dude,� Alexander, replied cautiously.
�You�re the last person on earth I expected to hear from today.�
�I must confess that I was not planning on calling you,� said Alexander. �Guess where I am? You�ll never guess where I am.�
�I don�t think I�ll even try,� said Michael.
�Michael, listen to me, this is important� said Alexander emphatically. �I�m on the top of the Empire State Building. I�m heading to meet Josh and Brandon in a little while. But I had to stop by here, it�s the first time I�ve been back since that day. And while I was up here I remembered what you said the last time we met. You said that someday we were going to have to find out which one of us is better. You still up for that, bro? You still ready to answer that question, or are you afraid of the answer, wussie?�
There was a pause on the other end of the phone and then, with self-confidence exuding from the voice, Michael said: �What have you got in mind, bud?�
�You still play THE GAME, dude?� said Alexander.
�Of course, I do, I play once or twice a month. The new markers are outrageous. I�ve got an Angel and my buddies are talking about putting together a team. How about you?�
Alexander replied: �I still play THE GAME a lot. Playing THE GAME and trading stocks are what rings my chimes,�
�So Alexander, what do you have on that devious mind of yours?� said Michael.
�Well, how much stock you got right now, total?� asked Alexander.
�Well, I tallied it up last week and I�m approaching a billion and a half. I�ve got it split into a bunch of investments, but I honestly don�t think I can escape the attention of the Forbes 500 Most Wealthy People List much longer,� he said with a cocksure sound in his voice.
�Well, you�re right up there with me,� said Alexander. �You know, if we combined our fortunes, we�d be worth over $3 billion. That has to make us two of the biggest individual investors around. We could get into some serious mergers and acquisitions action with those ducats.�
�Right,� said Michael. �I do see a small problem. Which one of us is going to work for the other?�
�That�s yet to be decided, dude,� said an increasingly excited Alexander. � It obviously won�t work with both of us trying to run everything�so we would have to give our word and keep it. Here�s my idea. We both take a year off from school. We play 18 days of THE GAME in 18 cities around the US and Canada. We invite everybody in the surrounding area to come and play in the most intensive paintball game that you can imagine. We�ll work the Henrys � those dudes at 2-Xtremes magazine � and we�ll have them design the most crazy, insane and intense paintball game you can imagine. We�ll divide everybody into two teams. And we�ll put $100 million on the line in stock each time. At the end of the day, we�ll have a one-hour maximum winner-take-all game. When we�re done with the last game, who ever has the most money, is the President. The loser gets to be the Executive Vice President. Which isn�t a bad second prize.�
For once in a conversation with Michael, Alexander realized that Michael was being silent. He was actually stunned. He also knew Michael was rising to the bait.
�Are you serious about this stuff?� said Michael. �Are you sure you haven�t been smoking crack or some other New York City drug?�
�I�ve never been more sure of anything in my life,� said Alex. �Look, the best times we�ve ever had were playing THE GAME and trading stocks. But we were always competing. Why? Even when women came around we were competitive for their attention. Remember Tracy Dennis? She actually liked me you bastard, but you had to dog her away from me, only to drop her once you had her. That sort of thing has to stop because, in spite of you being a real jerk some times, you�re the brightest guy I know and you�re the closest living friend I have. Why keep this crazy situation going. I think it might be a lot more fun working with you. Or I should say, a lot more fun having you work for me?�
Alexander could feel and hear him rising to the challenge. Michael couldn�t hide the adrenaline starting to pump through his veins. �This is insane, man. My father would kill me if I lost all this money. But what the hell, man, you�re right. It�s my money. We should be working together, not against each other. Worst case is that the loser will own half of a huge company, owned by two guys barely twenty. We�ll be bigger news than Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. And we are better looking. The media will eat it up. We could have our choice of the ladies. Can you imagine the outrageous mergers and acquisitions we could do? We could probably have this thing to $10 billion within of a couple of years. I�ve got some ideas about some Internet-type companies that we could really make work. What I really like is, that in a way, it says that even making the money has been a game. So much of a game that we can treat it so lightly.�
Alexander jumped in by saying: �This would have to be the ultimate, most intense paintball games anyone could ever devise. The Evil Henrys are perfect for this. They�ll stay up all night devising devious twists and turns. Hell, we might buy their magazine as our first acquisition.�
Now Michael was ready to throw in his two ideas.
�I know this dude named Brent up at Raven,� Michael blurted out. �I�ve been trying to get him to sponsor our team. I think they might be up for getting a band at every gig. I could call Brent next week.�
�Yeah, dude, you�re getting the idea,� said Alexander. �When I went to one of The Henry�s games last year they had the whole field wired for sound. It sure beat the hell out of our old boom box in the edge of the field. And then have a concert at the end of the day. Too friggin much. No player within five hundred miles would stay away.�
They agreed that because of weather, the first event would be in California and Michael would check out the availability of a super field in Corona, California called Tombstone. Then, Michael Lance did something that Alexander really wasn�t used to, Michael said, �I�m really glad we�re doing this, buddy, I�ve missed hanging out with you. But stay away from my women when you come to California.�
�Likewise,� said Alexander. �By the way, what kind of car are you driving?�
�You didn�t have to ask that one, Alexander,� said Michael. �I�m probably driving the same thing you are, a McLaren.�
�Yup,� said Alexander. �That Joey was one helluva kid.�
And for more than an hour, they talked. First about THE GAME; and then taking over the world with THE COMPANY. They would honor Joey�s memory by adopting his name for it. Back and forth, from subject to subject. They would approach all the other big manufacturers to sponsor. They would only get the cream of the crop as sponsors.
They talked about how most of their employees would be kids, who could all get educations and jobs at THE COMPANY. They would have all kinds of neat stuff at THE COMPANY. They talked about how they were both sick and tired of being looked at like they were THE ENEMY by a lot of adults. They agreed that if the world was going to get better, it would be the kids who would do it. The conversation turned to why you ever had to grow up?
Always the conversation turned back to THE GAME. How it would the most intense paintball game anyone could ever conceive. Devious, mind-bending non-stop adrenaline rush. Not like most scenario games where old men in alien costumes ran around capturing who knows what. No, this game would have high stakes. Everyone who played in it would remember it the rest of his or her entire life.
And then they said their goodbyes. They agreed to talk the following week, to lay out plans for the largest action-adventure scenario game, with more insane action than anyone could imagine.
As Alexander Vilos, who had his own destiny to meet, turned and walked to the elevators on top of the Empire State Building, he knew that at this moment, more than any other, Joey O�Donnell�s dream was alive.
As he stepped outside into the crisp winter air, he could already feel Times Square, the crowds and the celebration beckoning, and he took every step as though it was truly being taken into a new world that held special promise for him and every young guy in the world.
Suddenly, he started daydreaming, but this time it was more like a vision. He was still standing in front of a cheering crowd, ready to involve them in the game. And as they cheered, he turned to look at the face of the person standing next to him.
This time, the face did not turn away. It was Michael Lance, smiling arrogantly.
